The Day The Music Died
by jada jasmine
Summary: “You’ll be the death of me, Lily van der Woodsen. You could kill me right now, today, because of how much I love you. But death by van der Woodsen sure would be spectacular, I think.” RufusLily. Oneshot.


Okay, since I'm a) obsessed with Rufus and Lily and his song that was in the episode tonight, I really wanted to write a fanfic

Okay, since I'm a) obsessed with Rufus and Lily and his song that was in the episode tonight, I really wanted to write a fanfic about them, b) yes, this is American Pie, but I didn't use all of the verses because it's soooo long, c) if anyone can figure out where I can download Rufus' song…I'll be their best friend forever!! Naturally, please review.

**The Day The Music Died.**

_A long, long time ago... I can still remember how_

_That music used to make me smile._

_And I knew if I had my chance,_

_That I could make those people dance,_

_And maybe they'd be happy for a while._

Lily almost burst out laughing as the song came on the radio. Rosewood. Go figure, it's not on the radio for years. Now the whole damn world wants to honor it. That damn song. But it hadn't always been like this, this terrible bittersweet sorrow when this song was playing. There had been the biggest smiles she could remember, the force behind his brilliant songs, those few, temporary years when she had never been so careless and simply happy. Mostly because of that damn song.

_But February made me shiver,_

_With every paper I'd deliver,_

_Bad news on the doorstep..._

_I couldn't take one more step._

She blinked her eyes rapidly, staring down at the newspaper that the maid had brought into her bedroom with the customary fresh fruit and black coffee. The entertainment section was on top, as usually requested, and suddenly Lily regretted that request. 'Former Rock Star, Rufus Humphrey,Dies". She threw the covers off herself violently, slapping Bart in the face with the heavy quilt. Tying a robe around her, she ran out the door into the hotel hallway. Everywhere she looked, there was his handsome face on that damn paper. The overwhelming feeling that she couldn't stand anymore took over her. Sliding down the wall, her head in her heads, she wondered when this had happened to her.

_I can't remember if I cried_

_When I read about his widowed bride_

_But something touched me deep inside,_

_The day the music died._

Vodka. That was her key to forget everything. She wouldn't remember the next day that she had cried for him, yes for him, but mostly for her. She cried for what she always thought would still happen. She didn't know how many glasses she had drank so far, but she guessed it was around six. Bart had walked out the door about 35 minutes ago after ten minutes of trying to figure out what was wrong with his wife. Good riddance. "This one's for all our Lincoln Hawk fans out there." Rosewood. She downed whatever was left in her glass and poured herself another, tears pooling in the glass along with the poison of her choice. And even though she was sure she could pass out soon, she also knew that this feeling, this terrible pain, couldn't be erased by something as simple as vodka. But, God knows, she could try and God knows she did.

_Soo..Bye, bye miss American Pie_

_Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry_

_And good ol' boys were drinking whisky and rye?_

_Singing this will be the day that I die_

_this will be the day that I die_

As that dreaded song continued to play in the background, she dove into memories to escape from this moment. To when they were a couple of kids, artists they called themselves, in the 70's. Getting high off life ad plenty of other things. When things weren't complicated by her money or his lack of. When it was a hot, dry summer and they drove down to a shrinking river. Passing her a Bud Light, they sat in the truck bed, hands entwined, whispering cliché sweet nothings to each other. "You'll be the death of me, Lilly van der Woodsen. You could kill me right now, today, because of how much I love you. But death by van der Woodsen sure would be spectacular, I think."

_Did you write the book of love_

_And do you have faith in God above_

_If the Bible tells you so_

_Do you believe in rock n roll_

_Can music save your mortal soul_

_Then you can teach me to dance real slow_

When they had first met, before she had been de-programmed from the Upper East Side lifestyle that she was still living, she tried to get him to one of the rituals. Church on Sundays, followed by brunch. And even though brunch would consist of a beer and a sandwich, she still craved a small piece of her old life. So that Sunday, after spending the night with him, she woke him up gently. His eyes fluttered open, and smiled as he took her in. Quietly, almost impossible to hear, she mentioned her idea to him. He laughed, not in a bitter or mean way, but admiringly almost. Grinning, he roguishly exclaimed that his religion was rock n' roll, and that music could save you from eternal hell as much as any religion. She fell in love with him right then and there. It had been three weeks.

_Well I know that you're in love with him_

_'Cause I saw you dancing in the gym_

_You both kicked off your shoes_

_Then I dig those rhythm and blues_

Staring at one of her pictures from those days of wild photography, she scolded herself for going so wrong in life. The picture was from a night when she herself wasn't actually taking pictures. She had left it on the table, and a perfect stranger had taken pictures with it all night. She knew because she was in this particular picture. Her long, blond hair was tangled up in long, black hair and her tan hands were entwined in his equally tan ones. They were slow dancing to something probably meaningful and heroic, and his mouth was near her ears. There was the faintest smile on her lips, a wistful smile that made her heart break when she looked at it now. God. They had been so in love.

_I was a lonely teenage broncin' buck_

_With a pink carnation and a pickup truck_

_but I knew that I was out of luck_

_The day the music died_

When Serena came to visit her, her own cheeks wet with tears, Lily couldn't help but feel even more sorry for herself. When had she gotten so old? It seemed like yesterday he was picking wildflowers for her and laughing as the wind from the open window in the car blew the flowers out of her hair. It was cruel that she only became so much more in touch with all of these wonderful memories after he was gone.

_Now for 10 years we've been on our own_

_And moss grows fat on a rolling stone_

_But that's not how it used to be_

She was mourning something that she wasn't even sure would be in existence if he was still here. Or at least that's what she told herself. But she knew that it had always been there, an underlying layer to her essential self. Because it was easier to swallow her pride, lie to herself about it, and remember that she hadn't really talked to him in ten years. It was so much easier to do that than to admit she was wrong, somehow find him, and tell him that she still loved him, so much that it woke her up in the middle of the night sometimes, interrupted from a dream involving wildflowers and bare feet.

_When the jester sang for the king and queen_

_In a coat he borrowed from James Dean_

_In a voice that came from you and me_

He could always make her laugh. No matter what. Even in the middle of a serious fight. She had never called him her Prince Charming, because that held the connotation of perfect, Upper East Side, royalty. Basically, everything they weren't. But she would lovingly call him her Jester, and he would pretend to be offended, mockingly horrified that she only though of him as that. One night, after a perfect concert, he strode out from his dressing room looking like a movie star. Rock star seemed to rough for his appearance. And she felt her heartstrings tug, and she lovingly called him her King.

_And while the King was looking down_

_The jester stole his thorny crown_

_The courtroom was adjourned_

_No verdict was returned_

He proposed to her once. When she had hesitated (although she could never figure out why), he had taken it as rejection and brushed the whole thing off as a joke. "I bet you'd have said yes right away if I had bought you a Tiffany's ring. Hell any ring at all." Always the Jester he was. What he didn't know was that later that night, when he was fast asleep, she stared at her ring finger (she really didn't mind) and told him yes over and over again in her head.

_Helter Skelter in a summer swelter_

_The birds flew off with the fallout shelter_

_Eight miles high and falling fast_

_It landed foul on the grass_

_The players tried for a forward pass_

_With the jester on the sidelines in a cast_

It was summer again. He had called it 'their time'. As if no one else in the world had the right to enjoy summer, it was theirs. She still smiled when they kissed, but now the smiles were tinged with regret. She had talked to her mother last week. She cringed just thinking about the conversation. She was quickly thrown from her lovely life and thrust back into her mother's clutches. All week, she had been slowly freezing him out, hoping he would break up with her first. But all she was getting was hurt looks from him. So she did it quick, like tearing off a band-aid. They never tell you that no matter which way you do it, the newly revealed skin still stings and brings tears to your eyes.

_Do you recall what was revealed,_

_The day the music died?_

_We started singing_

She brought herself to read the article, choking on tears when she read how he was found. He had died in his sleep, a heart attack (died of a broken heart. They had found a small diamond ring in the shape of a rose beneath his pillow. Damn song. Damn damn song.

_As I watched him on the stage_

_My hands were clenched in fists of rage_

_No angel born in hell_

_Could break that satan's spell_

One concert, as usual, he had been attacked by hordes of groupies before the concert, causing my anger to boil over. I had stupidly, angrily, spit out terrible words before I even knew what I had said. He looked at me with big brown eyes, and called me an angel from hell. I scoffed, still pissed off and refusing to give in to his charm. "Because you have every quality that an angel should, you're as close to perfection as a human being should be. But then again, you do something like that, and I realize you aren't as perfect as you always try to seem." I visited my mother the next week.

_I met a girl who sang the blues_

_And I asked her for some happy news_

_But she just smiled and turned away_

I went over to Brooklyn to visit Serena and Dan, hoping for some last shard of…something that would help with this feeling I couldn't stop feeling. Serena answered the door, still in her pj's at twelve in the afternoon. She must've seen something looking for positive reassurance in my eyes, but she turned away, a sad, pathetic little smile on her face. The door closed, and I knew she had her own comforting to do.

_I went down to the sacred store_

_Where I'd heard the music years before_

_But the man there said the music wouldn't play_

While absentmindedly walking, I came across the empty theater space that he had once kissed me. He hadn't known in then, but it was really a good-bye. Not the new beginnings type he had in mind. Glancing around, I could almost see the shocked look on his face up there on stage as I stood off into the shadows. Snapped out of my reverie, a young twentysomething told me that there weren't any concerts this week, so I would have to leave. Nodding, I walked out, catching myself as I hoped that he would yet again chase me down.

_And the three men I admire most_

_The Father Son and Holy Ghost_

_They caught the last train for the coast_

_The day the music died_

She didn't go to church anymore. That's all Bart Bass really noticed about a difference in her. She would still go to brunch, but for some reason, church was off-limits. She figured that there was no way he could possibly be in hell, and that rock n' roll had worked just as well for him as religion had for anyone else. And God knows she had believed in rock n' roll more than any Holy Trinity she could think of.

Bye, bye miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry

And good ol' boys were drinking whisky and rye?

Singing this will be the day that I die

this will be the day that I die

"You'll be the death of me, Lily van der Woodsen. You could kill me right now, today, because of how much I love you. But death by van der Woodsen sure would be spectacular, I think."

**What do you think? I really liked it, if I say so myself. PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW. Reviews make me happy…**


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